So we burn silently
by elisabethjj
Summary: Stefan POV on the love triangle of doom, post Isobel's bombshell. Written for the tvd las LJ challenge, prompt: The Weapons We Wield.


**Story Title: **So we burn silently

**Character/Relationships: **Stefan/Elena, Damon/Elena so far as canon allows

**Rating: **PG13

**Warnings: **None, I don't think. Vague references to adult themes, to be safe.

_Written for the tvd_las challenge on LJ, prompt: 'The Weapons We Wield' (interested in reading more Last Author Standing Vampire Diaries [and other fandom] entries? go to .net/~laswriters )_

* * *

Elena doesn't know.

That's what comforts you, and it has to be enough. _Has_ to be, because if she knew, if her every move was cool and calculated like Katherine's had been, this wouldn't be bearable. But Elena doesn't. Know, that is.

Katherine knew. What she did to you and Damon all those years ago was precious little to do with razor sharp fangs, supernatural strength or even being able to compel your thoughts. No, Katherine knew damn well what her best weapons were; she nurtured and polished them with each secret smile, each fond caress, and each forbidden intimacy you were young and senseless enough to believe was only for you.

Lies, manipulation, trickery. No-one could do it like Katherine could. Every time you catch yourself despairing at the depths of Damon's sanguine depravity you stop for a moment and remember his weapons master. Damon learned from the best.

Isobel knows.

_'Because he's in love with you.'_

You stood there and could practically taste the sick delight twisting underneath the stone-cold expression on that bitch's face. Words dispensed with utter care, designed to glide smoothly under the barriers, settle queasy on the stomach, let the poison seep thickly out. Yeah, whatever Isobel's end game is, you think you're justified in giving it due brooding; yet another Pearce woman who doesn't need violence to bring you to your knees.

As much as you hate Isobel for giving this choking thing between the three of you voice- and, yes, you definitely hate her- you have to admit she's only kicked up a notch what was already smouldering below the surface. And _that_- that's really what hurts.

Elena.

Okay; Elena and you and _Damon_. And, sure, maybe falling in love with the doppelganger great, great, great (times whatever) granddaughter of the woman who you and your brother both loved literally to the _death_, wasn't the smartest thing you could have done, but _come on_. How is this fair?

So, you comfort yourself that Elena doesn't know. She has no idea how dark her gaze gets when she locks eyes with Damon, whether they're sharing a joke (while you roll your eyes that she find his immoral, scandalous sense of humour amusing) or she's getting angry at him (and that almost makes you wish she wouldn't, because you have to care to be _that_ kind of pissed). Elena doesn't know that her feelings are all over her face when she comforts Damon when no other human, hell, no other _person_ can get close. Doesn't realise what it means when she can talk Damon out of losing himself forever in that tomb, something not even you (and, even after everything, you're still close to your brother in a way that 160 years of sibling warfare hasn't been able to break) could cut through his grief induced temper tantrum. Elena can't know the effect when _Damon_ is the one she turns to for help (yes, you know it was to save you, both times, but it still counts) or how she's closer to him than ever when you're the one that saved her from drowning and _he's_ the one that basically _screwed and killed her birth mother_.

No, Elena doesn't know. Not yet. She knows she's in love with you and that's _so much_ that she hasn't realised yet that she's a little bit in love with Damon as well. And, despite what Isobel said having torn asunder the fragile trust building between you and your brother for the first time since, well, since _Katherine_, you honestly don't think Elena's even realised yet that Isobel wasn't lying about Damon being in love with her.

Elena doesn't know about the bruises and the bleeding in your heart. She doesn't know how each stray touch, laugh or little act of friendship stabs painfully somewhere deep in your chest, messier and more painful than any stake could be; hurt creeping through your bloodstream nastier than a syringe-full of vervain. Every breath she takes, every look in her eyes, every word, every touch, every goddamn _thought_ is a weapon she uses against you, innocently and kindly, because she loves you and she just has absolutely no idea how unnaturally deeply you love her.

This tiny, fragile, damaged, beautiful human girl: she has the power to destroy you in every way that matters.

(You're starting to think she could do it to Damon, too.)

You watch Elena as she sleeps in your bed, snoring gently and looking so unbearably young. You hear Damon before he's at your door, so you look up in time to see him recline elegantly in the shadow of the doorframe. What's in his eyes is part challenge and part despair, and it's only a little bit the fault of the half-drunk bottle of whiskey in his hand. He's deliberately not looking at Elena, and that's how you know this is getting bad. Sooner rather than later, this is going to come to a head, and you're frankly terrified of what happens then.

As Damon disappears back into the silence of the house, you relax slightly, tighten your arm around Elena, and try not to imagine the wound in your heart, the bloody knife in her hand.


End file.
